


A Wanted Man

by papersandals (laronmi)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, First Meetings, Flirting, Implied Feelings, Light Angst, M/M, Strangers to Acquaintances to Enemies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 05:30:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11937324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laronmi/pseuds/papersandals
Summary: As he's travelling to Gibraltar to answer the recall, Jesse McCree has the unfortunate luck of running into three bounty hunters who've decided that his head will do nicely as a consolation prize for a failed mark. Luckily for him, there's a handsome stranger in a bar who's willing to help him out. What's even better is that he and this stranger seem to have a nice synergy together for two wanted men who just met.Unluckily for him, Jesse's new acquaintance just happens to be someone Jesse's hated long before they ever met.





	A Wanted Man

**Author's Note:**

> This story feels like roughly 9K of nothing happening, then 2K of everything happening all at once. I know it isn't true, but I can't shake off the feeling.
> 
> This was also originally intended to be a single piece of a much larger work, but I, uh, kind of grew sick of looking at it. You can probably tell where I gave up and rushed to the end. 
> 
> The McHanzo is very light. For better or for worse.

After spending two and a half weeks on a cargo ship with only his own misery and vomit for company, the last thing Jesse McCree wanted to deal with was a bunch of cocky bounty hunters who were so green that they couldn't even read the damn mood of the room before taking a swing at him with their guns.

A physical swing. 

With their guns.

Jesse dodged them easily. It wasn't as if any of the three punks had any finesse to their actions, and if he was reading them right, two of them had long since moved past tipsy to flat out drunk. The third seemed to be hovering around the line. That might have explained why they were ballsy enough to come at him in the middle of a bar, no matter how empty it was, but Jesse didn't care too much about the hows and whys. He'd just finished spending the past nineteen days of his life sailing from the United States to Spain, with most of that time spent being violently seasick in cramped quarters, and neither his mood nor his stomach wanted anything except water and maybe a glass of bourbon when he got his land legs back.

In short, those three punks were ruining his day.

"Come on, now," he said, standing in front of the bar and playing up his Mexican accented Spanish for all its worth, trying for sardonic and ending up at Morrison levels of grumpy instead. "You really gotta do this here? Now?"

The one closest to him tried to stand up straighter, but ended up wobbling on his feet as he held the butt of his gun out towards Jesse. He began to ramble, in English, about bad days and Jesse making it better, but Jesse wasn't really listening. He kept his gaze locked on straight ahead at the men, but he was keeping watch with his peripheral vision as well. The only entrance and exit was to his right, the long bar was behind him, taking up half of the space available, and the majority of the seating was to his left. He knew that there were two other patrons in the bar. One was sitting in a dark corner behind Jesse and the bar, and the other wasn't sitting too far away from where the confrontation was taking place. Jesse could see out of the corner of his eye that the lone bartender behind him was trying to inconspicuously shuffle to the bar phone to his far right. 

That was troublesome. Three drunk, arrogant bounty hunters he could handle, but adding police or, worse, interpol to the mix was not something he was currently prepared to deal with. He just landed, damn it, and the thought of having to flee without even feeling well enough to have downed one glass of bourbon wasn't something he wanted for himself. If he wanted any kind of peace and quiet for himself soon, Jesse would have to end the confrontation as quickly as he could. Hopefully the other two patrons in the bar were quivering under their tables instead of doing the smart thing and alerting the authorities. He couldn't assume that, though. Best take care of things as if the cops had already been called.

"All right, look here," he said, switching to English as well and speaking over the man in front of him as he tucked his thumbs into his pockets, the back of his right hand brushing across where Peacekeeper was being holstered as he did so. "I don't want any trouble, and I'm pretty sure that Mr. Barkeep," here he gave a sharp jerk of his head backwards towards the trembling bartender who, upon noticing he was being spoken about, froze in his steps and looked up in alarm at them with big, watery eyes, "don't want any either. How's about you gentleman kindly step outside and forget you ever saw me, huh?"

The guy standing in front of him was largely built, both fat and muscle packed in tightly in his body. His hair was dark, wavy, and hung limply around his face, which was pinched together in a snarl. Jesse assumed he was the leader of the pack, due to the way the other two stood behind him, although he questioned that when the man snorted and pointed the end of his gun at him. The butt end. Jesus Christ. 

"I don't think so," he slurred, his entire body teetering dangerously to one side as he did so. He flicked the butt of his gun up towards Jesse's forehead, which would have maybe been a mite more threatening if he actually had the right end pointed at Jesse. "We lost our first target, but you'll do," he continued, drawing out the 'do' in a drunken half-whistle, "as a conversation— Contemplation— _Consolation_ prize."

It was, honestly speaking, insulting that Jesse was being threatened by a guy who was pissed three sheets to the wind. It was even more insulting that those amatuer hour bounty hunters were hounding him because they were originally after someone else.

"Hate to tell y'all this," Jesse drawled, making sure to look so obviously bored that even the three stooges in front of him could tell through their drunken stupor, "but if you lost track of your first target, then there's a snowball's chance in hell that you're going to be able to turn me in. Whatever piddling little criminal you're after—" Jesse paused. He wasn't so foolish as to avert his gaze, no matter how outwardly casual he appeared, away from the three in front of him, but he could have sworn that someone in the bar let out a mocking snort of laughter. The three stooges, however, didn't seem to have noticed, if their openly confused expressions at his silence were to be believed. Jesse cleared his throat.

"...Anyway, if you lost track of a small fry, you ain't got no chance with me."

"Fuck you," said the leader, whom Jesse had begun calling Moe in his head. "You're standin' in front of us." Moe hiccuped. "We got you right where you want us."

"Yeah," Jesse said slowly. "I sure do."

It was a waste to use Deadeye on them, as ineffectual as they were, and it was a waste to use too many bullets on them as well. On top of that, if the police were coming, the last thing Jesse wanted was to have them take him even more seriously because he shot someone in the arm. Instead, he drew Peacekeeper and aimed a shot at the side of Moe's gun, angling it just right so that the bullet ricocheted somewhere down and to the side where it didn't hit anyone. It did manage to knock the gun out of Moe's hand, though, and Jesse allowed himself a bit of an arrogant smirk.

"Drop your weapons," he said to other two, who he'd named Curly and Larry in his head to round out the trifecta, "or the next one's going in you."

Larry, a tall, thin scarecrow of a man who was also drunk as a skunk, dropped his weapon. Curly, though, being right on the borderline of tipsy and drunk, chose to aim his weapon at Jesse — the right way — and shoot. Jesse managed to dodge, but his damn sea legs got in the way of the dodge roll, and rather than elegantly springing up a few feet away, he tumbled into the barstools and cursed as one of them fell on top of him. Someone else in the bar shrieked, and he could hear the bartender behind the bar dive towards the phone, followed immediately by the frantic sounds of him sobbing into it in hysterical Spanish. 

Jesse pushed the barstool off himself and managed to stand and point Peacekeeper at Curly's head, scowling something fierce and then scowling even fiercer when he realized that his hat had fallen off during the tumble.

"Now you're just being stupid," he grumbled, but Curly got a manic gleam in his eye as he slipped all the way into drunk on both the alcohol and the adrenaline, and wasn't it just Jesse's luck that the last drunk man would be a damn belligerent fool? 

"You don't want to do this," Jesse warned. Peacekeeper was leveled straight at Curly's head. Curly's had his gun pointed at Jesse's chest, but his hands were shaking. He was the smallest of the trio, and he was hunched over and shaking in a way that reminded Jesse of a panicked rodent. That probably made him even more dangerous, but Jesse would be the one who'd be getting a guaranteed kill if they fired. Behind Curly, Larry watched with his mouth open and eyes wide in panic, but Moe had already gone and picked up his gun and was fumbling with it, trying to figure out which end was, in fact, the shooting end he wanted to point at Jesse.

"I think I really do," Curly said, and as his pupils dilated and his mouth split open into a manic grin, Jesse steadied himself, finger applying pressure to the trigger, fully prepared to shoot when an arrow cut through the air and landed straight into Curly's fingers. Curly howled in pain and jerked his arm back, shooting at the same time, and it took all of Jesse's reflexes and experience to not shoot back and stay still, letting the bullet go wide and pierce the bar a few inches to his right. Jesse looked back as Curly sobbed, holding his bleeding hand as the gun lay on the floor, Larry and Moe fumbling towards him.

There, in the corner of the bar, was a man sporting an undercut and possessing the finest, sharpest jaw Jesse had ever seen on a human being. He had a bow in one hand and a large, open guitar case at his side. His arm with the bow was still held out. There was a quiver of arrows in his guitar case. There was a bottle of sake that he had picked up and was draining.

When the stranger set down the sake bottle, it was with a loud, solid slam that very much had an air of finality to it.

"Gentlemen," he said, cold disdain and arrogance dripping off every word that came out of his disgustingly attractive face, "we meet again."

Moe's eyes bulged out so far that Jesse was scared they were going to pop right out of his wide head. "You!"

"I must admit," the stranger said in a heavily sarcastic tone of voice, "that I was almost impressed that you found out where I was. It is unfortunate, however, that none of you thought to turn around."

The three stooges' attentions were solely focused on the stranger in the corner. Jesse took that opportunity to bend down and pick up his hat, settling it firmly on his head as he split his attention between the three in front of him and the man in the corner. 

Moe laughed, but it sounded desperate, as if he knew that he'd gotten in over his head but was still trying to play it out to the end. "Look at that, boys! Looks like we're going to turn in two heads! This is our lucky day!"

"Poor dumb fucker," Jesse muttered under his breath. He watched the stranger pluck an arrow out of his quiver and notch it in one smooth, practiced motion. He drew the string back, bending the ends his of bow until Jesse swore he could hear the vibrations from the tension. 

"No," tall, dark, and handsome said. "I am afraid this meeting is most unlucky for you." He let go of the bowstring.

Several things then proceeded to happen in a very short span of time. 

The arrow struck through Moe's bicep at the same time Curly let out another shriek, this time one that sounded more like rage than pain. Moe screamed as well and fell backwards, his legs flailing from under him as the back of his head hit the edge of the table they were sitting at. In the next moment, both Curly and Larry also went down, but for two very different reasons. Larry knelt down by Moe, grabbing him by the shoulders and jostling him in what would was probably a painful way, yelling into Moe's face as Moe himself continued to scream. Curly, though, bent down to retrieve his gun with his good hand, face scrunched up in a rage-fueled grimace. Both Jesse and the stranger in the corner seemed to have realized this at about the same time. 

Jesse shot Curly in his good hand, but before Curly could even react to that, another arrow came flying and embedded itself into the meat of Curly's thigh, causing him to go from kneeling to sprawled out onto the floor, flecks of foam appearing at the corner of his mouth as he yelled out in both fury and pain.

While all that was going down, the undeniable sound of police sirens could be heard far too close to the bar for Jesse's comfort.

"Aw, hell," he muttered as the three bounty hunters were prone in various ways on the floor, screaming in rage, pain, concern, or a combination of all three. "Motherfuckers." 

Jesse chanced a glance back at the bartender. He was off the phone, pushed back against the very back wall behind the bar, and was holding a paring knife out in his fully extended and shaky arms, pointing it at Jesse.

"Now, hold on," Jesse said as the sirens drew closer still. "I was just acting in self defense."

The bartender let out a weak, shrill squeak. 

"You fool," the man in the corner chastised, putting the bow into the guitar case with the quiver and closing it, then heaving it over his back with practiced grace. "You just shot twice."

"I only actually hit 'em once," Jesse snapped back. "Besides, you shot them too!"

The man let out a humorless bark of a laugh, gave Jesse a dry, condescending sneer, then popped open a window high up on the wall. He jumped up, hoisted himself up on the bottom of the frame, and then pushed out and twisted around to climb over and out of it like he was a damn beautiful lizard.

"Motherfucker," Jesse said again, with just a bit of awe, as he realized that the stranger managed to escape through a back entrance the bar didn't technically have. 

"Motherfucker," he said more emphatically when he realized that there was no way that he could do the same, what with his sea legs still being sea legs. Escaping out the front door was completely out of the question, now that a crowd was obviously beginning to gather outside, not to mention the fact that the police sirens were practically at the bar's front door already. 

"I really hate ninjas," he said mostly to himself, apologizing to Genji in his head as he holstered Peacekeeper and ran towards the back window as quickly as he could on his shaky legs. He didn't trust himself to be able to easily climb out of it with his legs the way they were, so for security, he grabbed a chair nearby and stuck it under the open window. He also wasn't as flexible, either, and rather than hoist himself up and turn himself around, Jesse had to step on the chair, align himself so that his back was to the open window, then bend backwards and stick his hat and his head out first. As he did so, the door to the bar slammed open, several police officers crowding in front of it, guns drawn. Jesse swore, grabbed the top of the window frame as one of the cops took notice of him and yelled for him to stop, then used his upper body strength to try and get himself out.

The archer made getting out of the window a hell of a lot easier than it seemed. Jesse was bigger than he was, and bits of his chestplate scraped against the frame. His legs tried to push off the chair, but they were still shaking. His stomach was starting to feel real nauseous as well, and the fact that Jesse hadn't noticed it was raining and humid outside wasn't doing any wonders for his situation either. The rain made his grip slip, the cops pointing their guns at him and coming closer made his control falter, and they might have gotten to him if someone on the roof didn't grab his forearms and try to hoist him out of the window in a single rough motion.

"Holy hell," he yelped as he was lifted up and out by a pair of strong, steady arms. His chestplate scraped against the window frame with a loud shriek, his serape got momentarily tangled around his torso, and his legs banged against various parts of the frame as he flailed, still too wobbly and used to the sea to be able to be as still as he wanted them to be. Jesse winced as his left shin hit the upper frame so hard that he knew there would be a bruise there come morning, but there wasn't time to dwell on the pain. The police had moved inside and a few of them had made it to the window, grabbing at his feet as Jesse was pulled up. 

As the man pulling him up grunted with the exertion, Jesse flailed and kicked at the police until they let go. He then tucked his knees in, one of his kneecaps grazing hard against the edge of the window frame, and once he was entirely out and had enough of his body over the edge of the roof, he stuck his feet on the top of the sliding half of the window and pushed off. He didn't get much of a boost, but the frame snapped shut on a few lingering hands. Jesse allowed himself a smirk as he heard the cries of pain, and then he focused on scrambling up entirely onto the roof. His savior let go of Jesse's mechanical arm, and Jesse grabbed the slick roofing as much as he could, blessing the low grade of steepness while pulling himself up, supported by his savior.

His savior, who turned out to be Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome from the corner of the bar.

"Thank you kindly," Jesse said once he was stable. He pushed himself onto his unsteady feet and tipped his hat at the archer, water already sluicing down the brim of his hat and onto the roof. Jesse very markedly did not watch the rain bead off the archer's beard and trail onto his neck before disappearing beneath the depths of his jacket collar. Jesse also did not stare at the archer's eye lashes, each lash collecting a small, delicate bead of water that splashed off onto the archer's cheekbones with every blink. Jesse did, however, pointedly glance at the bow and quiver strapped to the archer's back, guitar case open and lying by the archer's side, rainwater collecting in its hollow. 

"Have to say, handsome," Jesse said as he tried to play it cool and not set off the archer too much by making any sudden motions towards the direction of his gun, ready to draw and fire if need be, "I didn't expect you to stick around."

The archer gave him a displeased look, although whether it was from the nickname or the statement itself, Jesse couldn't say.

"I do not plan on 'sticking around,' as you say," the archer said, voice and posture still haughty and arrogant. Below them, the sounds of the police barking orders at one another, followed by the sound of the window sliding up and open, came through loud and clear. Despite the grey, murky atmosphere outside, the blinking lights and sirens of the police vehicles parked outside the bar also came through loud and clear. Without saying anything, both Jesse and the archer moved towards the center of the bar roof. 

"If you desire to stick around, gunslinger," the archer continued, turning away slightly and moving to the edge of the roof on the side between the window they'd jumped out from and the front entrance of the bar, "then do so. I, however, have no intention of lingering."

With that said, the archer took an impressive leap off the roof. Jesse had a brief moment of concern, for there was a narrow alleyway below and another taller building in front of the archer, but the man simply cleared the gap and managed to grab onto the exterior wall of the next building. He then began to scale it, seemingly having no problems gripping the worn stonework in the rain and climbing up easily, as if he were scaling a climbing wall for sport rather than running away from the police. 

Jesse watched him climb for a smidge longer than was smart to do, then shook his head to clear his mind from the sight and to clear his hat from the water collecting on the brim. He looked around and reevaluated his options. 

Unlike the archer, Jesse couldn't climb walls like a ninja — both he and Genji had enough memories of him trying to and failing to prove it — so while the alleyway between the two buildings was narrow enough for him to jump over with a running start, the fact that he'd only end up slamming his face into the wall crossed that out as an option. 

The side of the building where the front door was was out as well. Even discounting the police cars, the street was wide and open, and Jesse didn't think that he'd be lucky enough to escape into the nonexistent crowds. The side of the building directly opposite from where the archer had climbed also led into an open street. Even though the police hadn't cordoned off that section yet, he was being watched by the cops trying to hoist themselves through the window, and the moment he made to move in that direction, he was certain that the police still on the ground would hurry to catch up to him. 

As for the side with the window itself, there were several policemen with bodies halfway through the window, yelling at him, but a quick glance showed that none of them were waving their guns around, and if Jesse was reading it right, the three that tried to climb out at the same time were stuck, unable to move further out or push themselves back in. There was an alleyway behind the building, one that was wider than the one the archer jumped across, but the building next to it was about the same height and had a flat roof. Jesse might have made that jump on most days, but with his sea legs still out at sea, not to mention the rain making everything slick, it would be a pretty risky gamble to try.

In short, he was screwed, and there wasn't a lot of time left for him to think about it anymore. Ultimately, what it came down to was that a risky gamble was a better one to take than three other options that would almost guarantee failure. Jesse thought briefly about having Peacekeeper in his hands rather than holstered at his side, but he didn't want the police in the windows to get a sudden second wind and get unstuck because they panicked, and it was probably better to have both hands free to grip with, just in case. 

"This ain't the dumbest thing I ever did," he muttered to himself, wishing for a cigarillo in his mouth. There wasn't one, however, and he didn't have the luxury or the time to get one out. He was all alone, minus the cops and the bounty hunters he shot and maybe the archer, with no support and no aid, and all he had to rely on was his still seasick self and a whole lotta reckless bravery. 

Definitely not the dumbest thing he ever did.

He backed up a few paces before he started running. The adrenaline helped steady his legs and push him faster. Time seemed to slow down as he neared the edge, and his focus narrowed to the gap between buildings. It was wide, maybe a little bit wider than he'd thought, but the roof of the next building over was flat and a little bit lower. Even if he couldn't clear it all the way, he still should have been able to grip the top of the roof and hang on long enough to hoist himself up. It'd be fine. And if it wasn't fine, well, he knew how to take a fall. He wouldn't die from it, probably. It'd hurt like hell, but it wouldn't kill him, and no one would be expecting him to head that way, so he'd probably have a few seconds to get up and get out—

In the moment that he jumped, one of the police wriggled their arm through the mass of bodies stuck in the window and reached out for his legs. Jesse's focus switched from the jump to the hand coming towards him, and he gritted his teeth in frustration as he realized he couldn't do anything about it.

The archer could, however, and did. Before the arm had even fully extended, an arrow pierced through the palm of the hand. Jesse didn't have the time or the chance to spare a second thought, instinct and experience taking over and making him refocus on the jump. He strained in midair, despite knowing it was all up to physics now, but his focus helped him ready his body and land in a roll, distributing the force of his landing.

Time resumed its normal pace, and Jesse pushed himself up on his forearms, body wrapped up in his wet serape, and looked at the window, the arrow, and then up. Through the rain, he could see, on the roof of the building across the way, the figure of the archer lower his bow. There was the almost imperceptible nod of his head before the archer spun around and ran.

"Well, hell's bells," Jesse said before pushing himself up all the way, untangling himself as he did so. He frowned at how soaked through he was, but there was no time to do anything about it. He ran away from the scene on wobbling legs. The adrenaline rush was still in effect, but the landing he took still shook him some. Rain streaked his face, falling almost sideways, but his hat kept the worst of it from his eyes. He splashed through puddles on the flat roof with his awkward gait, and when he arrived at the edge of it, peered down. 

There was a fire escape to his side. The alleyway it led to was narrow, but the next building was several floors taller. Down it was, then.

The metal stairs creaked and groaned as he made his way down, and rather than cut the rope holding it up, Jesse opted to jump down instead. He landed in a puddle, legs twinging from the landing, and grimaced from both the twinge and the water splashing into his boots. There was still no time to dwell on unpleasantries, though, and he pushed himself, willing his sealegs and lingering seasickness to go away. 

The alley was dark, and what light was available came from the weak lights that shone through the curtained windows of various buildings. This close to port, the scent of the sea wafted together with the rank smell of populated living areas — refuse, piss, sweat, and smoke — stung his nose and twisted the taste of the air. Jesse ran, keeping track of the turns he took as he stuck to the small, confined alleyways, keeping an ear out for any sounds that weren't part and parcel of the rainy night. The police sirens grew more and more distant the more he ran, yet even then he didn't slow down, nor did he do so as his lungs burned and stomach heaved. It was only when the sirens could no longer be heard above the falling rain that Jesse dared to stop, bracing himself with his mechanical arm on a wall and then leaning over, taking great gulps of air, mindless to how foul it smelled thanks to the garbage dumpster not two feet away.

He barely got ten breaths in, stomach still rolling and legs feeling like they were going to give out at any moment beneath him, before he heard the sound of a pair of heavy soled shoes land behind the dumpster. In an instant, he stood straight and drew, pushing himself off the wall and darting out and around the dumpster, pointing the barrel of Peacekeeper at whoever was there.

He was met with the tip of a mechanical arrow.

"Gunslinger," the archer said, sounding unamused but not outright aggressive, despite the drawn bow. Jesse made clear and obvious motions as he stared the arrow down, backing away slowly, the hand holding Peacekeeper kept perfectly still.

"Archer," Jesse said in reply. "Are we going to have a confrontation, or are we good?"

"I would prefer to avoid more conflict than is necessary," said the archer, which wasn't really an answer. Jesse couldn't blame him, though. He certainly wasn't going to be the first one to put down his weapon, even for a guy that helped him to escape. The fact that the three stooges were after the archer first wasn't forgotten about, either. Still, if he was reading the atmosphere right, they weren't going to get anywhere by having their weapons pointed at one another.

"How's about this," Jesse said, the urge for a cigarillo coming back with full force as he thought carefully about his words, "on the count of three, we both lower our weapons. You don't look like a guy that's exactly keen on picking a fight with me, and I sure as hell don't want to pick any more fights with anyone tonight. Deal?"

The archer remain silent for a beat, then lifted one elegantly sculpted eyebrow. "That will be acceptable, so long as I am the one doing the counting."

Jesse desperately wanted something to bite down on. "Fine. You do the counting then, handsome."

A twitch in the archer's fine jaw, but no other sign of complaint. "One," the archer said. A second passed. "Two." Another second.

"Three," the archer said, and both he and Jesse slowly lowered their weapons. Jesse let out a breath of relief and leaned back against the wet wall of the building behind him. The nausea, which had been thoroughly ignored for the tension of the moment, came back in full force, and Jesse groaned, daring to close his eyes for a fraction of a second and holster Peacekeeper back by his side, running his mechanical hand over his face to wipe off the rain.

"Handsome," he groaned, "you sure know how to keep a man on his toes."

The faintest whisper of a smile appeared on the archer's face as he slipped the arrow back into the quiver on his back before slinging the bow across it as well. "One must be adept at improvisation if he wishes to survive. Although," the archer said, giving Jesse a cool, thorough look that sent tremors down Jesse's spine, "I doubt that is a skill you possess."

"Excuse you," Jesse growled, the tremors replaced immediately by a warm flush of irritation, "I'm plenty good at improvising." He did not say that he was having an off night. More than likely, the archer already knew. If he didn't, then Jesse wasn't going to tell him. He and the archer may have formed a fragile, temporary truce, but it was foolish for wanted men to place trust in strangers, no matter the circumstances. "But if you're so skilled at it," Jesse muttered, tipping his head to the side to stretch his neck and get the water off the brim of his hat, "then why don't you improvise us a plan to get outta here, huh?"

"I already had a plan," the archer said flatly, "but as I have had my cover blown and my acceptable guise for these," here, he gestured at the bow and quiver at his back, "lost on a rooftop, it leaves me few choices."

"That's why I said improvise it," Jesse said, and the archer rolled his eyes. 

"I can easily come up with an alternate plan for myself. To come up with a plan that will also save you, however, will require a miracle. Besides which," the archer continued as Jesse opened his mouth to protest, "I am not certain how far I wish to travel with you, gunslinger."

Jesse snapped his mouth shut. "Fair point," he agreed after a moment. "Can't exactly say I'm keen on anyone knowing where I'm heading. How's about this, then: We help each other get out of town, and once we're properly outside the city and not being chased by anyone, we split ways. I won't ask or look where you're going, and you won't do it either. Deal?"

The archer's expression was blank. "And does that extend to not attacking as well?"

Jesse tipped his head the other way and stretched out the other side of his neck. "Honestly, handsome, I get the feeling that I ought to be more worried about that than you. Can't make promises either way, but unless you do something to really tick me off, I'll just mosey on out and not give you a second look."

The muscles in the archer's jaw tensed. "I have no desire to inflict meaningless violence upon anyone, but I will defend myself without hesitation. If you hold yourself to your words, then I'll grant you the same courtesy. Unless you should do something that endangers me, I will ask no questions nor pursue."

"Thanks," Jesse said drily. Then, more sincerely, said, "Guess that means we got a deal."

The archer nodded once, jaw still tense, but there was nothing in the rest of his body language or in his expression that gave Jesse cause to doubt. Honestly, it was a bit of a miracle that he'd found a guy who seemed to want to be left alone and on his way just as much as Jesse did. Of course, the fact that the archer was a wanted man was still a bit of a problem. Jesse wanted to keep his word, he did, but if the archer turned out to be one of the bad guys Jesse'd been hunting down because they were too awful to let live, well...

He'd come to burn that bridge when he came to it. 'Course, sooner was better than later, and faces didn't mean much when most of his marks didn't even have anything better than a blurry photo and a trail of blood and rumors to go by.

"Sorry if this is a little too personal," Jesse said, not feeling really sorry at all, "but is there something I can call you by other than 'handsome'? Not that I think you don't deserve it, but your face and jaw twitches sometimes — just like that — when I call you by it, and, well—"

"You first," the archer said, doing an admirable job of not looking too displeased. Jesse exhaled through his teeth and got ready to act, just in case.

"Call me McCree," he said, smiling with his teeth exposed. The archer gave him a look, but didn't react in a way that suggested he was familiar with the name.

"Very well, McCree," the archer said, body and voice stiff. He paused, looking conflicted, and then said with hesitance, "I am Hanzo."

The name set off a twinge of familiarity in Jesse, but he couldn't recall off the top of his head where he'd heard the name before. He only knew enough about Japanese names to recognize that Hanzo was Japanese in origin, but he didn't know anymore than that. He could have heard it from Genji, or he could have heard it because it was as common in Japan as David was in the States. 

Even so, there was something about the name that wouldn't leave him alone, but it would require more time and more thinking than Jesse could spare at the moment to remember. 

"Well, Hanzo," he said, putting in as much charm as he could conjure up in the moment to offset any sense of unease he may have exhibited, "it's mighty fine to be working with you for a while. Now, have you improvised anything useful with those keen skills of yours?"

Hanzo gave him a disgruntled look, then turned on his heel with more grace and elegance than Jesse was used to for someone ticked off with him. 

"This way," Hanzo said, leading him down the alley and towards the direction he'd been going before he stopped to rest. "I have been in this city for a few days. The alleyways here are akin to a labyrinth, but they do lead to an exit. If my estimations are correct, there is a path that we can take to reach the edge of town. It will be an indirect path, but it should be the safest."

Jesse let out a soft whistle. "Well, look at that. You really can improvise."

Hanzo did not dignify him with a response.

They dared not walk too quickly, fearful that speed would lead to negligence and noise. The rain did not let up as they navigated the wet, twisting alleyways. As time ticked by, the soft lights from the buildings around them went out one by one, the hour of night pulling people into sleep and silence. As they walked on, neither of them wanting or needing conversation to fill in the empty spaces between them, they were slowly yet consistently plunged into greater darkness. Eventually, the only light that they could rely on were the street lamps, their yellow, faded glow illuminating the major streets that the alleyways bordered. As Hanzo appeared to be avoiding the main streets at all costs, the streetlamps began to feel more and more like warnings and signals of danger. For now, the darkness was safety.

It made Jesse feel like he was walking into hell, led by a demon who wanted his soul. Don't stray from the darkness. The light'll be your end. 

Traps and treachery and betrayal.

It burned Jesse up that he still couldn't remember where he'd heard of Hanzo's name before.

It was, by Jesse's reckoning, about two hours since the confrontation at the bar. His sea legs and vestigial seasickness was finally gone, but it left a hunger in his belly in its place. He hadn't eaten well in weeks and couldn't get anything down since he landed. Jesse tried not to be a man dictated by his mood, he really did, but hunger was unpleasant to deal with and made him cranky. Doubly so on a miserable night where he was shot at and was now relying on a stranger to get him to safety.

That things were starting to go a little too well didn't help matters. 

If it had, indeed, been about two hours since they left the bar, it was still too soon for the police to have given up the chase, especially given how they'd injured the three bounty hunters. Even assuming that those three had a rap sheet, no one who witnessed what happened during or after would've assumed either Jesse or Hanzo was doing anyone a favor. 

Jesse shook his head and tried to clear his mind, willfully ignoring the rain, his hunger, and his mood. Silent and stealthy as Hanzo's route had been, anyone with half a brain would've sent men down to investigate the numerous alleyways. The port wasn't big, but it was well traveled, and crime always gathered around where goods and business were traded. There was no way that the police would be so incompetent as to not check the alleyways. True, they could've just been that quiet and that good, and Jesse and Hanzo might've had someone tailing them right that instant, but Jesse had a gut feeling tested by years of experience that that wasn't the case.

What did that mean for Jesse, then? If no one was scooping them out, then they must have wanted them to be there. Jesse wasn't familiar enough with the city to know how it was laid out, but Hanzo moved with enough confidence to back up his claims of knowing the path. Could Hanzo have been a trap?

It was too dark to see well, but with the little residual light they had, Jesse could see that Hanzo's form had grown tenser. He'd stuck to the walls and crouched down before, but now he was practically plastered to the ground. He took more time, too, looking around, and Jesse realized that the respectable distance they'd maintained previously had shrunken.

If Hanzo was a trap, then Jesse'd walked right into it. He wasn't going to shoot without confirmation, though. Suspicious he might've been, but Jesse wasn't fool enough to threaten or maim his only guide.

"We're being led into a trap, aren't we," Jesse muttered, voice low and restrained. He watched the dim form of Hanzo freeze and tense, the archer holding it for a few seconds before releasing it all at once.

"You've finally noticed," Hanzo stated. "It has been some time, yet we've run into no resistance."

"Yep. Funny, ain't it? Can't help but to feel like I was being led on."

Despite the darkness, Hanzo's glare came through remarkably well. "I could say the same, McCree."

Jesse sighed and rolled his shoulders, trying to work out some of the tension that had built in his body since they started. "Us accusing each other about it ain't gonna solve our problem," he said, patting his pockets loudly in search of a cigarillo. "So let's consider, for the moment, that we're not trying to pull a fast one on each other." Something squished loudly in his back pants pockets, and Jessed sighed again. Too wet to light. "I can't imagine that all the cops in this town are idiots, handsome, and I can't imagine that two guys like us would have just the cops on our tail, if you're getting my meaning."

"The possibility that we are dealing with international forces has crossed my mind," Hanzo said drily. "I am alarmed that it has taken you this long to consider it, however."

"Now, now," Jesse muttered. "Just 'cause I didn't say anything didn't mean I wasn't thinking it. Hell, I'd been afraid of that ever since the pigs showed up. Naw, us sneaking around for so long without anyone trying to shoot us just confirmed it. The real question is," he continued, pulling out the wet, deformed cigarillo anyway and jamming it into his mouth, "what we're going to do about it."

"Try to smoke in futility, perhaps?"

"Real cute. Sometimes miracles happen, you know."

Hanzo snorted. "I've planned escape routes through the city," he said as Jesse tried to get his lighter to function in the pouring rain. "There are several paths we can take, but if our foe is clever, then we should consider those unusable."

"Are they clever enough to try blocking off the main streets?"

Hanzo scowled, and Jesse cursed the darkness. Hanzo's face was an indistinct form in the low light, but even so, Jesse could make out that Hanzo's scowl was a mighty impressive thing. Shame he couldn't see it properly.

"Only a fool would not block off the main streets when two wanted men are on the loose."

"There ain't no difference between an overconfident man and a fool sometimes," Jesse said before giving up on the lighter and shoving it back into his pockets. Even if he couldn't light the damned thing, he could at least have the comfort of having it in his mouth. He glanced up, tipping his head up towards the sky and letting the water wash off the brim of his hat, not that it made much difference with how soaked he was. He'd have to watch himself. Jesse could be negligent towards his health on most days, but even he'd admit that spending so much time out in the rain, warm night or not, wasn't going to do his body any favors.

"Are you truly suggesting that we simply go out into the streets and walk out of town," Hanzo said in a whisper that was more of a growl. Jesse shrugged.

"Not quite. I'm suggesting we head out and scope out the streets first. If they look like they aren't being patrolled or closed, then we saunter out of town on the main streets."

He tipped his head down again and cursed the darkness once more. Hanzo's face was still caught in a scowl, although something had changed about it. It was too dim to make out, though, and Jesse gave in and took a few steps closer. "How about it, partner?"

Hanzo scoffed. "The best way to be ignored is to act as if you have every right to be somewhere. Do you think that our enemies are so short-sighted as to have not considered we would attempt that?"

"Naw," Jesse admitted, then gave Hanzo a cheeky smile, chomping down on his cigarillo as he did so. "But if we're being herded like sheep anyway, might as well make them work for it, right?"

Hanzo shook his head. "This is a reckless plan."

"Sure is. You in?"

Hanzo did not reply with words. Instead, he stepped to his side and turned slightly, angling his body so that Jesse was met with his profile. Hanzo crossed his arms and threw his head back. In the dim light of night, Jesse watched as Hanzo's expression changed from his displeased scowl to something amused and haughty and slightly sadistic. It wasn't a safe look, but it was a damned good one.

A demon who wanted his soul indeed.

"Prove me wrong," Hanzo said, tone commanding and daring. The sound of it caused a warmth to pool out of Jesse's core that put the warmth of the wet Spanish night to shame.

"Gladly," he said back, voice more gravelly and low than he'd meant for it to be. Hanzo said nothing, did nothing, and Jesse looked towards the street they were closest to and took his first step out into hell.

Nothing happened. 

He didn't slow, didn't dawdle, didn't do anything other than keep walking like he was just any other man taking a walk in the middle of a rainy night. There wasn't really anyone else in the street, due to the hour and the weather, and what few people that were out were taking shelter under eaves or running towards their destination. Jesse didn't change his pace, though. He just kept walking, casual as you please, right on the sidewalk and heading towards the direction out of town.

A few minutes later, Hanzo caught up with him. Jesse glanced at him, acknowledging him like he would a friend who was just also happening to be walking in the rain with him. His quiver was strapped against his hip now, making it more inconspicuous, but his bow remained at his back.

"Standing out there with that weapon of yours," Jesse said conversationally, and Hanzo scoffed. 

"If someone did not force me to leave my case behind," he said in an even tone, "then perhaps I would not stand out so much."

"Eh, it'll be fine," Jesse said. The streetlamps' warm yellow glow illuminated the sidewalk, and whenever they passed under one, Jesse couldn't shake the feeling of having a searchlight beaming right on them. Still, no one bothered them or even looked their way. Regardless of how they were dressed or what they were carrying, the few street stragglers out were too concerned with their own lives. If there were any police or interpol or who else knows what watching them, they hadn't made any move to capture them either. "I don't think anyone's paying attention to us."

"Confident, aren't we," Hanzo said. They both sidestepped a puddle, walking away from one another, and they both used that opportunity to sneak a look behind them. When they rejoined a step later, they exchanged a look with one another that communicated the same thing.

No one was following them that they could see. That meant that they were either extremely lucky and Jesse's plan had worked, or that whoever was tailing them was better than they were comfortable with.

Jesse didn't have much stock in his luck. It was pointless to act on his paranoia, though. They had chosen his plan, and there was nothing to do but see it to the end.

"Tell me something, handsome," Jesse said, pulling out his cigarillo and wishing that it was dry enough to light. Hanzo gave him an annoyed look, his facial features better illuminated by the streetlamps, and Jesse lost his train of thought for a second as he spotted something that appeared like genuine curiosity in Hanzo's eyes.

He cleared his throat and looked away from Hanzo's face, focusing on the street ahead of them. "What's a guy like you doing in a place like this, anyway?"

Hanzo let out a soft laugh. "Truly? You are asking me that here? Now?"

Jesse shrugged and tried not to flush. "Gotta keep the conversation flowing."

Hanzo shook his head. Jesse watched him from the corner of his eyes, and, lordy, that smirk could kill a man by itself. "If I told you, cowboy," Hanzo said, dragging out the word cowboy in a way that probably should have been illegal, "then I would have to kill you."

"Of course," Jesse said, more roughly than he intended. "Gotta keep up that dark, deadly, mysterious stranger appearance you've been cultivating."

"I do not try to cultivate any sort of specific appearance," Hanzo said. His voice was guarded, and there was an edge there that spoke of volumes to be unpacked behind his statement, but Jesse didn't want to know. Hanzo didn't seem like the type of man who'd want to share, anyway. "I do what I must and act accordingly. Nothing more." Hanzo kept his head facing forward, but glanced at Jesse from the side. "Not everyone has such an ambitious statement to make such as you."

Jesse stuck his cigarillo back into his mouth and bit down as he spoke, keeping his expression neutral otherwise as he looked on ahead. "Ain't trying to make a statement. This is just who I am."

Somehow, despite not looking at him, Jesse knew exactly what kind of half-horrified expression Hanzo was making. He reached up and tilted his hat down, using the action to cover up him doing a quick sweep of their peripherals, and then put on an exaggerated sulk.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered. "Make fun of the anachronism. Ain't nothing I haven't heard before."

"I cannot make fun of something so horrible," Hanzo said with such a somber tone of voice that Jesse couldn't help but bark out a laugh.

The rain was finally slowing down now, the heavy sheets of rain giving way to a softer, gentler summer drizzle. The humidity remained, however, and the slowing of the drops meant little to either Jesse or Hanzo, soaked as they were. 

With the easing of the rain came improved visibility and less background noise. Jesse's footsteps sounded inordinately loud to his own ears, what with the spurs jingling and the water in his boot squelching, and he slowed down his pace just a little to dampen the sound. Hanzo, at his side, was nearly silent. 

In the increased timespan between his footsteps, Jesse listened hard for any sound that would give away anyone following them from behind or to the sides. Other than the general noises indigenous to all cities after dark, however, there was nothing out of place to be heard. If someone was following them, they were doing an impeccable job of staying silent.

When a noticeable gap had grown between the two of them, Hanzo slowed down as well and canted his body and looked back at Jesse. Outwardly, his expression displayed an equal mix of confusion and irritation, but a quick look at his eyes told Jesse that Hanzo had the same concerns that he did. No one was following them that he could notice. It was all going too well. 

It was, honestly speaking, incredibly unnerving that Jesse could read him so well. It was even more unnerving that Hanzo was so easy to work with and understand. Like his plan, it was all going a little too well.

Sooner or later, something would have to give.

"Rain's slowed down," Jesse said after the silence had gone on too long. He looked up, peering at the sky with clumsy yet earnest motions, hoping that would offset any suspicions anyone looking at him would gather. "Reckon people'll be popping out of bars and heading home."

Hanzo tilted his head up, but he did not look away from Jesse. "Perhaps. I cannot imagine they would have been heavily populated to begin with."

He had a point, much as Jesse had hoped otherwise. The bar they had been in earlier in the evening was nearly deserted for how close it was to the ports, and Jesse couldn't see anyone living in the area heading to a bar when it had been raining so heavily for so long. No hopes of getting lost in the crowd, then. Damn. Looked like they were going to have to continue on without cover and pray for some luck.

"Well," he said slowly, "guess that means we got the streets to ourselves. Aren't we lucky."

Hanzo did not reply.

They did not have the streets to themselves. A few wet stragglers still trudged along occasionally, most of them heading towards the center of the city rather than out of it, and Jesse was grateful for it. If the streets had been completely empty, it would have been a sign of someone with too much power and control over the city than he would've been comfortable dealing with. Seeing people in various states of wetness and sobriety added a much needed layer of normalcy to the strange, tense night he'd been experiencing, and Jesse allowed himself to let his mind wander for a second, wondering if his cigarillo was dry enough to light. 

It wasn't, which was for the best. He'd no idea how Hanzo would react, and the silence, while tense due to them both still bracing themselves for the worst, was fairly comfortable. The possibility that the comfort was a horrible trap lying in wait was still a distinct possibility, but Jesse saw no point in springing the trap too early.

Whether or not Hanzo was a plant to lead him on or an actual passer by that caused Jesse to be at the wrong place at the wrong time was irrelevant. If something was waiting for him, if there was a trap to be sprung, then the location of the incident would be outside the city limits. There were plenty of opportunities for anyone hunting Jesse down to take him out within the city, yet the coast was clear and the walking was smooth. Jesse wasn't much of a believer in his own good luck, having lived his life and knowing the difference between luck and skill, and the only thing that could have led him to go so far so easily was someone pulling the strings and letting him do it. 

Well, if they were kind enough to lay out the red carpet like that, then it'd be rude to not show up. Whoever was behind this, they'd given Jesse the opportunity to clear his head and his body, and that, at least, was something to be thankful for. Better to knowingly walk into a trap outside of town, where no one innocent could get wrapped up in it, than to have a firefight in the middle of the city.

There was no gate, no structure, no sign that proclaimed the end of the city limits. The transition was gradual: a dying off of both residential and commercial buildings, the sidewalk becoming increasingly unusable due to debris and overgrowth, and the slow flickering decay of light. Eventually the sidewalks disappeared altogether, the path they'd taken leading not to some major road for travel, but rather a gravel and dirt path leading out into a desolate, overgrown urban wilderness.

The moment they walked through, both Hanzo and Jesse changed their stance, dropped the act of them just being two people walking around the city at night. Hanzo pulled his bow to his hands, shifting the quiver to his back once again and grabbing an arrow to keep nocked on his bow. Jesse readied himself to draw at a moment's notice. When the last of the city lights gave way to the abyss of night, they stopped and waited.

They didn't need to wait long.

That someone would be waiting for them at the point was utterly unsurprising. What was surprising, however, was who was there. Jesse expected the police, Interpol, better organized bounty hunters, someone who'd pose a real threat.

What he got was Larry, the only one of the stooges back at the bar who hadn't gotten injured. The one who also hadn't tried to harm either Jesse or Hanzo from what Jesse thought was either cowardice or his complete lack of sobriety. 

Larry looked plenty sober now, though, and he looked mad. Standing up straight, mean sneer plastered across his face, Larry looked more menacing than Curly or Moe did back in the bar. In fact, the only way that Jesse could tell it was Larry at all was because of the little flashlight he had switched on and was carrying in his left hand. His right hand held a gun, poised and ready to shoot. There was no sense of hesitation in the way he stood and walked towards them. Everything spoke of a man that not only had a goal in mind, but also in sight.

"Well, look at that," Larry said, voice steady and dangerously low. "I've caught myself two fools. Almost makes shooting all the witnesses and letting my buddies take the blame worth it." He moved his gun in a single, smooth motion to point it at Hanzo, who had drew his bow up and was pulling the string back. "Watch it, Shimada. Even if you take me down, I can promise that I'll get you with it as well."

Jesse's blood went cold. He was aware, in a distant, disconnected sort of way, that he should do something, say something. He and Hanzo — Hanzo _Shimada_ — were facing off a gunman of unknown skill with an unknown number of accomplices in the middle of the night in an abandoned area outside of town. He should have done a lot of things, but Jesse was too overwhelmed to do any of them.

He did, indeed, hear of Hanzo's name from Genji. 

Years of resentment built up over a man he'd never met but always hated since the moment Jesse knew he existed almost boiled over. The urge for revenge, so long buried and almost forgotten about because Jesse never assumed that he would ever run into Genji's brother and because it was Genji's mark to begin with, reared its ugly head with a roar that filled the caverns of Jesse's heart and head. Forget Larry. Forget the situation he was in. Hanzo Shimada was here, was next to him, was so close to him and Jesse didn't even _realize that the traitorous, murderous son of a bitch had him fooled—_

He took a deep breath in and stepped out of his head.

"Look," Jesse said, spitting his cigarillo out and interrupting whatever back and forth Shimada and Larry were going on about. Despite his best attempt at keeping as level of a head and voice as he could, there was no way he could keep the waves of anger that came rushing out of him at bay. "This has been a shit night, and it's just gotten even shittier. How's about you," he said to Larry, "and whatever men you got just come on out and make this easy for me."

Larry spat at him, but was too far away for the wad of spit to hit. "I had to scapegoat and sacrifice all of my men to be able to corner the two of you," he said, then winced and looked like he regretted saying it. 

The waves of anger crashed against the shore. "What. Are you saying you're alone—"

"Shut the fuck up, Jesse McCree," Larry screamed, and as he pivoted his gun around to point it at Jesse, Shimada let his arrow fly. It pierced Larry's throat, and a harsh, wretched gurgling sound came sputtering out of his bloodied lips as the gun fired. McCree tensed, and from the corner of his eye saw Shimada do the same as the bullet flew between them.

There was a beat of silence, ruined only by Larry's frantic gurgling, and then Jesse pulled out his gun and shot him in the head. The sound of the gun shot, the flash of the firing, the smell of gunpowder — something gave in that moment. Whatever tension and agreement and camaraderie that settled between Jesse and Hanzo, no matter how slight and temporary, was torn apart and rent asunder. Like Larry's blood and flesh and life, it died in that moment and left only a ruined remainder of what could have been.

They pointed their weapons at each other at the same time.

"Shimada," McCree snarled, and he watched as Hanzo Shimada grimaced. The light that Larry had been carrying had fallen onto the wet ground, yet what glow there was offered enough illumination for McCree to see the other man's face.

Shimada's hand tensed on the arrow. Slight, but enough for McCree to scowl and grip Peacekeeper tighter.

"How pitiful to see," Shimada growled, "that the price on my head was enough for you to abandon your honor."

McCree took a step towards him, but Shimada did not move back. Instead, he drew the bow back further, the string and bow trembling in tension. Shimada's body, however, was perfectly still, as was the arrow pointed at McCree's head. 

"You shut your damn mouth," McCree said. "I don't give a flying fuck about your bounty. And don't you lecture me about honor, Shimada. You don't have the right."

The only way to describe the expression that bloomed across Shimada's face was _fury_. Like blood pooling out of an open wound, it spread and seeped into his features until every semblance of his expression, every crease and line and stretch of his skin, was soaked through with rage.

"How dare you tell me that I have no right to speak of honor" Shimada hissed, wisps of strange, glowing blue energy coalescing around his arm. "You know nothing of me, and I will not be lectured to," he yelled, the energy swirling down his arm to spiral around his bow, "by you!"

Every cell in McCree's body told him to run and duck for cover. Forget the arrow pointed at his head — there was something going on with Shimada and that light that Jesse would regret finding out about.

McCree told his body to shut the hell up. There was something more important at stake.

"You're right; I ain't got the right. But Genji ain't here, and like hell," he said, leveling Peacekeeper at Shimada's forehead and staring him in the eyes without a trace of fear or hesitation, "I'm going to let the man who nearly killed him get away."

Being away from the city, it was possible to hear the distant sounds of thunder. The rain had not truly stopped. A greater storm was coming in its place.

Both Hanzo Shimada's face and bow went slack.

"You know my brother," he whispered, voice hoarse.

"I know Genji," McCree said, nevermind that they hadn't really spoken since Overwatch and Blackwatch had fallen in an explosion of ash and rubble and trust, "and he sure as hell didn't think of you as his brother when we last spoke."

Shimada's reaction was ugly and visceral. It lasted only a moment, but in that moment, an entire symphony of reactions played out across his body, the bang and clash of McCree's words sending Shimada stumbling back, his steps a broken staccato across the wet ground. His eyes, blown wide, locked onto McCree's, and in that moment, Jesse intrinsically understood that Hanzo Shimada had realized Jesse was telling the truth.

Then the moment passed. 

"You," Shimada said, voice shaking and body trembling, the man obviously struggling for control, "know _nothing_ —"

"I reckon I know him better than you do," McCree said, and, oh, that haunted look in Shimada's eyes told him that those words hurt far more than a bullet ever could. "I worked and lived with him for years. Fought with him instead of against him, and I know exactly how he ended up the way he did. Genji," McCree spat out, "is my friend." He pressed forward, Peacekeeper still pointed at Shimada's head. This time, Shimada stepped back, even as he controlled his shaking and adjusted his grip on his bow. "I don't take kindly to murderous fuckers who try to do my friends in."

Something like rage and resignation warred in Shimada's expression. McCree ignored it.

"Overwatch," Shimada said. "So it's true that they are gathering."

McCree rushed forward, muzzle of his gun pressed against Shimada's forehead. Shimada drew his bow back at the same time, arrow pressed up against McCree's throat, string drawn back further than McCree had ever seen it that night.

"How do you know that," McCree asked. Shimada stared right into his eyes, something both defiant and resigned in his gaze, a contradiction that unsettled McCree worse than finding out who Hanzo Shimada was in the first place. 

"Genji," was the only word Shimada said, voice so quiet that it might not have been said at all.

The sound of thunder drew closer. A drop of rain hit Hanzo's forehead, the water beading down the slope of his brow and rolling past the barrel of Peacekeeper's muzzle like a caress. 

There was something big, Jesse realized, that he was missing.

He took a step back, and the rain fell again in earnest. Another step, and he lowered Peacekeeper. Hanzo did not step back or forward, but he slowly released the tension in the draw of his bow, lowering it as he did so.

A flash of lightning brought Jesse back to his senses. The smell of blood was thick in the night, the rain and ozone mixing with it to create something unpleasant yet disgustingly familiar. The rapid pitter patter of rain against the gravel and dirt filled the space around them. Thunder, yet again, close enough to make the ground shake.

"If I ever see you again," Jesse said, throat suddenly dry and scratched despite all the moisture around him, "or if I hear you've been around Genji or Overwatch, I'll kill you."

Hanzo said nothing. He continued to stare at Jesse, face blank, body still, bow held down at his side.

"I'll put a bullet in your head so fast that you won't even have time to grab an arrow, got it?" Jesse tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. "Do you understand, Shimada?"

A barely imperceptible nod. The rain continued to fall.

"Good." His lips were chapped and rough. There was nothing to wet them with. The rain couldn't reach over the brim of his hat. "Now leave."

There was a split second of hesitation before Hanzo began to step backwards, controlled and tense, never taking his eyes off Jesse. 

Jesse didn't bother moving, not even after Hanzo stepped out of view. Not even as the frequency of the lightning and thunder grew. Not even as the chill of the storm settled into his body.

When he finally did move, it was to wipe the water off his face with his mechanical hand, futile as the action was, and then say, loud and short and furious:

"Fuck."


End file.
